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UOITM ILY 




By ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL 



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<]• 

•> *5 

3 ^ i 


PUBLISHED BY 

DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING COMPANY 

CHICAGO NKW YORK BOSTON 

PUBLISHING HOUSE AND MAILING ROOMS, ELGIN, ILLINOIS 





LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 
NOV 7 1906 

t 0«»»rl»ht Entry 
CLASS XXc., No. 


Copyright, 1906, 

By David C. Cook Publishing Co., 

ELGIN, ILLINOIS. 


JUIDITM ILYMBI 

A Story of the Sea. 

By ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL. 
CHAPTER I. 

I N TARPAULIN and oilskins she did not look like 
a Judith. Easily she might have been a Joseph or 
a Janies. So it was not really to be wondered at that 
the little girl in the dainty clothes — the little girl from 
The Hotel— should say, “ Why!’’ 

“ What is your name ?” the Dainty One had asked. 
“ Judith Lynn,” had answered the boy-one in oil- 
skins. 

“ Why 1” Then, as if catching herself up at the im- 
politeness of such a little word in such a surprised 
tone — “ I mean, please excuse me for thinking you 
were a boy,” the little Dainty One had added, in con- 
siderable embarrassment. And Judith had laughed — 
Judith’s laughs were rare, but the crisp, salty bright- 
ness of the sea was always in them. The sea was in 
everything about Judith. 

“ I don’t wonder 1” laughed Judith. Me, with 
these togs on ! But I guess you'd be a boy when you 


4 


Judith Lynn. 

went out to your traps — you can’t ’tend traps in skirts. 
Blossom calls me Judas with these on !” 

It was strange how suddenly the rather big voice — 
a voice has to be big to compete with the voice of the 
sea — grew soft and tender at the name of Blossom. 

In Judith Lynn’s rough, hard, salt-savored life 
Blossom was the one thing sweet and beautiful. Blos- 
som was the little frail wisp of a child that Judith 
loved. This other child, here on the sand, watching 
her with friendly wonder, reminded her a little of 
Blossom. Anyway, they were both sweet and beau- 
tiful. 

“ Traps ?” queried this other child. “ I didn’t know 
there were mice in the ocean ! — you were going out 
on the ocean, weren’t you ?” 

Again Judith’s rare, bright laugh. Children were 
such funny things ! — Blossom was, too. 

“ Lobster-traps,” she explained, when the laugh had 
laughed itself out. “ I’m going out to mine to get the 
lobsters. Out there where those little specks of white 
are bobbing ’round on the water — don’t you see ?” 

“ I see some little specks — yes, they’re a-bobbing ! 
Are those traps?'' 

“ Mercy, no ! The traps are sunk ’way down to the 
bottom o’ the sea! Those are nothing but the little 
wooden floats that tell me where the traps are. I 
couldn’t go hunting all over the bay, you know.” 

“ No — oh, no, you couldn’t go hunting all over the 



M* r 





i 


"WHAT IS YOUK NAME?” 


s 


4 







6 Judith Lynn. 

bay,” repeated the small, puzzled voice. The Dainty 
One was distinctly interested. “ I s’pose, prob’ly, every 
one of those little white specks has got a fish line to 
it. I hope they’ve all got bites. Oh, my suz! Here 
comes Elise. Elise is always a-coming!” with a long 
sigh. 

Elise was slender and tall, in cap and apron. She 
walked with the stride of authority. A frown of dis- 
pleasure was getting visibler and visibler on her face, 
the child noticed with another sigh. Elise was ’most 
always a-frowning. 

“ Good-by. I — I guess I’d better go and meet her,” 
the Dainty One said hurriedly. “ She isn’t quite as 
cross when you go and meet her. It helps.” 

But the child came back again to Judith Lynn. She 
held out one little sun-browned, sea-browned hand. 

“ I’m happy to have seen you,” she said, with soft 
graciousness, as if Judith were a duchess in laces 
instead of a boy-girl in fisherman’s togs. “ I’d be 
pleased to see you some more. I like you.” 

“ Oh !” stammered the boy-girl in fisherman’s togs, 
a flush of pleasure reddening her brown face. No 
one had even said “ I’d be pleased to see you,” to her 
before, though Blossom, of course, was always pleased. 
No one but Blossom had ever said, “ I like you,” and 
Blossom’s way was, “ I love you.” 

“ I must go — she’s ’most here,” went on the child, 
rather anxiously. “ But first I wish you’d tell me 


Judith Lynn. 7 

who Blossom is. You spoke about Blossom, didn’t 

your 

“ Yes. She’s my little sister. Her regular name is 
Janet. It’s only me calls her Blossom.” 

“ Oh, but that’s lots the prettiest name ! Fm going 
to call her that, too. I’d be pleased to see Blossom. 
Is she about my tallness?” 

Judith’s face had undergone one of its swift changes. 
It had grown defensive and a little fierce. She should 
not see Blossom! — this other child who could walk 
away over the sand to meet Elises, whoever Elises 
were. She should not see Blossom! Blossom should 
not see her ! 

“ But, maybe — prob’ly she’s a baby — ” 

“ No, she’s six. She’d be about as tall as you are, 
if she was straightened — I mean if she could stand 
up beside o’ you. I guess you better go to that woman 
in the cap or she’ll scold, won’t she?” 

“ Goodness, yes ! Elise always scolds. But I’d 
rather be scolded than not hear about that little Blos- 
som girl — ” 

“ Mademoiselle !” called the woman in the cap 
sharply. She came up puffing with her hurry. 
“ Mademoiselle has escape again — Mademoiselle is 
ba-ad !” she scolded. 

“ I didn’t ex-scape, either — I only walked. You 
don’t walk when you ex-scape. You sat and sat and 
sat, and I wanted to walk.” 


8 


Judith I^ynn. 

The child’s voice was full of grievance. Sometimes 
she dreaded Elise — when she saw her coming down 
the beach — ^but she was never afraid of her “ near to.” 

“ But it is not for Mademoiselle to walk so far — 
what is it the doctor say? Mademoiselle is ba-ad 
when she walk so far !” 

With a sudden gesture of defiance the Dainty One 
sprang away across the sand, looking over her shoulder 
willfully. “ But it’s so good to walk !” she cried. 
“ You’d walk if you was me, Elise — you’d walk and 
walk and walk ! Like this — see me ! See me run — like 
this!” 

The eyes of the woman in the white nurse’s cap met 
for an instant the eyes’ of the boy-girl in the oilskins, 
and Judith smiled. But Elise was gravely tender — 
Elise’s face could undergo swift changes, too. 

“ Yes, certainment I would,” muttered Elise, look- 
ing away to the naughty little figure. It was running 
back now. 

“ And then you’d be goody again — see me !” chanted 
the child. “ And you’d go right straight back to 
Elise — that would be me, if you were I — and you’d 
put your arms round her, so, and say, ‘ ’Sense me,’ — 
hear me !” 

Judith Lynn got into the old brown dory and rowed 
away to her lobster-traps. There was no laughter any 
more in her eyes; they were fierce with longing and 
envy. Not for herself — Judith was sixteen, but she 


Judith Lynn. 


9 


had never been fierce or envious for herself. It had 
always been — it would always be — for Blossom, the 
frail little wisp of a girl she loved. 

She was thinking intensely, What if that were 
Blossom, running down the beach? They were about 
of a “ tallness ” — why shouldn’t it be Blossom ? Why 
shouldn’t Blossom run down the beach like that and 
call “See me!” 

She would walk and walk and walk — it would feel so 
good to walk I Once she had said to Judith — the great 
oars stopped as Judith remembered — once Blossom 
had said, “ Oh, Judy, if I ever walk, I shall walk right 
across the sea. You couldn’t stop me I” 

But Blossom would never walk. Judith bent to the 
great oars again and toiled out into the bay. Her lips 
were set in the old familiar lines of pain. In the 
distance was just visible a fleck of white and a fleck 
of blue — Elise and the Dainty One on the sands. 

“ I never want to set eyes on them again — not on 
her, anyway !” thought Judith as she toiled. “ What 
did she want tcTspeak to me for, in her nice little minc- 
ing voice ! She belongs to hotels and I belong to the 
— sea. Blossom and I — what has she got to do with 
Blossom !” 

But the little mincing voice had said, “ I’d be pleased 
to see you — I like you.” It had said, “ I’d be pleased 
to see Blossom.” 

“ She sha’n’t I I won’t have her ! I won’t have 


10 Judith Lynn. 

Blossom see her!” Judith stormed in her pain. 

The picture of the little frail wisp of a child who 
would never walk was so distinct to her — and this 
other picture of the Dainty One who walked and 
laughed, “ See me !” The two little pictures, side by 
side, were more than Judith could bear. 

The traps were nearly empty. It was going to be 
a poor lobster season. To hotels like that one down 
the beach that would be a disappointment. To Judith, 
who stood for fisher-folk, it would mean serious loss. 
When the lobster season was a good one, more than 
one little comfort and luxury found its way into more 
than one humble fisher-home. And Blossom — Blos- 
som would suffer if the lobster-traps were empty. For 
Judith and her mother had agreed to set apart enough 
of the lobster-money to get Blossom a wheel-chair. 
Judith had seen one once on a trip to the nearest town, 
and ever since she had dreamed about a little wheel- 
chair with Blossom in it. To wheel up and down the 
smooth, hard sand, with Blossom laughing and crying, 
‘‘ See me!” 

“There’s got to be lobsters!” Judith stormed, jerk- 
ing up her traps one after the other. “ There shall be 
lobsters !” 

But she rowed back with the old brown dory almost 
as empty as when she had rowed it toilsomely out to 
her traps. 

There were but three Lynns in the small home 


11 


Judith Lynn. 

upshore. Two years ago there had been six, but father 
and the boys, one day, had gone out of sight beyond 
the bay and had never come into sight again. It is 
the sad way with those “ who go down to the sea in 
ships.” 

Judith was the only man left to ’tend the traps and 
fish in the safer waters of the bay. At fourteen one is 
young to begin toil like that. Even at sixteen one is 
not old. But Judith’s heart was as strong as her pair 
of brown, boy-muscled arms. She and the old dory 
were well acquainted with each other. 

To-day Judith did not hurry homeward across the 
stretch of bright water. She let the old dory lag along 
almost at its own sweet will. For Judith dreaded to go 
home with her news of the poor little “ haul ” of lob- 
sters. She knew so well how mother would sigh and 
how little Blossom would try to smile. Blossom always 
tried to smile when the news was bad. That was the 
Blossomness of her, Judith said fondly. 

“ That’s Lynn luck,” mother would sigh. Poor 
mother, who was too worn and sad to try to smile ! 

“ Never mind, Judy,” Blossom’s little, brave smile 
would say. “ Never mind — who cares !” But Judy 
knew who cared. 

Strange fancies came sometimes to the fisherman- 
girl in the great dory, out there on the bay. Alone, 
with the sky above and the sea beneath, the girl let 
her thoughts have loose rein and built her frail castles 


i2 


Judith Lynn. 

in the salt, sweet air. Out there, she had been a beau- 
tiful princess in a fairy craft, going across seas to her 
kingdom ; she had been a great explorer, traveling to 
unknown worlds ; she had been a pirate — a millionaire 
in his yacht — a sailor in a man-of-war. She had 
always had a dream-Blossom with her, on her wonder- 
trips, and sometimes they were altogether Blossom- 
dreams. Like to-day — to-day it was a Blossom-dream, 
a wistful little one with not much heart in it. They 
seemed to be drifting home, away from something 
beautiful behind them that they had wanted very much. 
They had been sailing after it — in the dream — with 
their hands stretched out to reach it. And it had 
beckoned them on — and further on — with its golden 
fingers, till at last it had vanished into the sunset, 
down behind the sea, and left them empty-handed after 
all. They had had to turn back without it. And Blos- 
som — the little dream-Blossom in the dream — had 
tried to smile. 

“ Never mind, Judy,” she had said. “ Never mind — 
who cares !” But they had both cared so much ! 

Then quite suddenly Judith’s fancy had changed the 
dream from a sad one to a glad one. She had rested 
lazily on her great black oars and painted another 
picture on her canvas of sea and sky— -^this time of 
Blossom riding way over a beautiful glimmery sea- 
road in a little wheel-chair, soft-cushioned and beau- 
tiful. She, Judith, followed in the old dory, and Bios- 


Judith Lynn. 


13 


som laughed with delight and called back over her 
shoulder, “ See me ! See me !” 

A whiff of night-breeze warned Judith that it was 
growing late and the dream-fancies must stop. She 
leaned over the side of the dory and pretended to drop 
them, one at a time, into the sea. That was another 
of her odd little whimsies. 

“ Good-by, sad dream — good-by, glad dream,” she 
said. “ You will never go ashore. You will always 
stay out here in the sea where I drop you — unless I 
decide to dream you over again some day. If I do, 
good-by till then.” For Judith never dreamed her 
day-dreams on land. They were a part of the sea and 
the sea-sky and the old black dory. 

She must make her trip to the Hotel with her poor 
little haul of lobsters, for she had promised all she got 
to Mrs. Ben. But for a wonder Judith’s pride deserted 
her, and she decided to tramp away down the beach in 
her fisherman-clothes. When had she done that be- 
fore! When hadn’t she walked the weary little dis- 
tance inshore and back, to and from her home, for the 
sake of going down the beach in her own girl-things. 
But to-night— “ Never mind, Judy — who cares 1” she 
said to herself, with a shrug. Let Mrs. Ben laugh — 
let the fine people lounging about laugh — let every- 
body laugh! Who cared? To-night Judith was tired, 
and the stout little heart had gone out of her. 

“ Land !” laughed Mrs. Ben, in her kitchen door. 


14 Judith Lynn. 

But the sober face under the old tarpaulin checked her. 
Mrs. Ben’s heart was tender. 

“ I shouldn’t think I looked very landish,” Judith 
retorted. “And I guess you won’t say ‘land!’ when 
you see your lobsters. That’s every one I got to-day, 
Mrs. Ben 1” 

But Mrs. Ben said “ Land I” again. Then, with an 
unexpected whirl of her big, comely person, she had 
her hands on the boy-girl’s shoulders and was gently 
pushing her toward a chair by the window. 

“ You poor dear, you ! Never mind the lobsters. 
Just you set there in that chair and eat some o’ my 
tarts! You look clean tuckered out.” 

“ Not clean tuckered,” laughed Judith rather trem- 
ulously. It was good to be pushed about like that by 
big, kind hands. And how good the tarts were ! She 
sank into the chair with a grateful sigh. 

“ I don’t suppose you can be expected to bring lob- 
sters when there ain’t any in the traps! All is, the 
folks ’ll have to eat tarts !” Mrs. Ben’s folks were the 
people who lounged about in gay summer clothes. 
Judith could see them out of the window as she ate 
her tarts. 

Some ladies were sitting on the doorsteps very near 
by, and their voices drifted in to Judith with intervals 
of silence. She began to notice what the voices were 
saying. They were talking about a little figure in 
dainty white that was circling about not far away. 


Judith Lynn. 15 

and the little figure in white was Judith’s acquaintance 
of the beach. 

One of the voices was a mother- voice — Judith was 
sure of that from the tenderness in it. The other voice 
was just a plain voice, Judith decided. It sounded 
interested and curious, and it began to ask strange 
questions about the dainty little figure. Judith grew 
interested, too — then, very interested indeed. 

Suddenly Judith caught her breath in an inarticulate 
little cry. For she could hear what the mother- voice 
was answering. 



d' 


CHAPTER 11. 


(Ti TT seems very wonderful,” the cool, interested 
1 voice said, a little more interested, if anything. 

“ It seems glorious !” broke in the mother-voice ; and 
the throb in it beat upon Judith’s heart through the 
waves of air between them. Judith’s heart was throb- 
bing, too. 

“ You can’t think how it ‘ seems,’ — you don’t know 
anything about it!” the earnest, tremulous voice went 
on. “ How can anyone know who never had a little 
daughter?” 

“ I had one once.” The other voice now was soft 
and earnest. 

“But she walked. Your little daughter walked. 
How can anyone know whose little daughter always 
walk—” 

“ She never walked.” It was very soft now, and the 
throb had crept into it that was in the mother-voice 
and in Judith’s heart. “ I only had her a year.” 

They were both mother- voices 1 Judith could not 
see, but she felt sure the two sat up a little nearer to 
each (Other ami their hands touched. 

‘‘‘Oh*! — ^.theiB you can know,” the first voice said, 
16 


Judith Lynn. 17 

after a tiny silence. “ I will tell you all about it — there 
have only been a few I have wanted to tell. It has 
seemed almost too precious and — and — sacred.” 

“ I know,” the other said. 

“ But you must begin right at the bep^inning, with 
trie — at the time when my little daughter was a year 
old, when the time came for her to learn to walk. 
That is where my story begins.” 

“ And mine ends. Go on.” 

“ Well, you can see how I must have watched and 
waited and planned.” 

“ Oh, yes, and planned — / planned.” 

You poor dear !” Another tiny silence-space, 
while hand crept to hand again, Judith was sure. 
Then the story went on. 

“ You say I ought to have known. Everybody says 
I ought to have. They knew, they say, and I was the 
baby’s mother. The baby’s mother ought to have 
known. But that was just why. I was her mother — 
I wouldn't know. I kept putting it off. ‘ Wait,’ I 
kept saying to myself. ‘ She isn’t old enough to walk 
yet ; when she is old enough, she will walk. Can’t you 
waitf And I ^aited. When they did not any of 
them know, I kept trying to stand her on her poor little 
legs — I wouldn’t stop trying. When she was fifteen 
months — sixteen months — seventeen, eighteen — when 
she was two years old, I tried. I would not let them 
talk to me. ‘ Some children are so late in walking,’ I 


18 


Judith Lynn. 

said. ‘ Her legs are such little ones !’ I would catch 
her up from the floor and hug her fiercely. ‘ They 
sha’n’t hurry you, my darling. You shall take all the 
time you want. Then, some day, you’ll surprise mother, 
won’t you? You’ll get up on your two little legs and 
walk! And we’ll take hold of hands and walk out 
there to all those bad people that try to say things to 
us. We’ll show them !’ But we never did. When 
she was two and a half I began to believe it — perhaps 
I had believed all along — and when she was three, I 
gave it up. ‘ She will never walk,’ I told them, and 
they let me alone. There was no more need of talking 
then.” 

Judith was leaning forward, straining her ears to 
hear. She had forgotten Mrs. Ben’s tarts — she had 
forgotten everything but the story that was going on 
out there, out of her sight. It was so much — oh, how 
much it was like Blossom’s story I When Blossom 
was three, Judith had given up, too. But not till then. 
She had kept on and on trying to teach the helpless 
little legs to walk. Father and mother and the boys 
had given up, but Judith had kept on. “ She shall 
walk I” she had said. 

Sometimes she had taken Blossom down to the 
beach, tugging her all the way in her own childish 
arms, and selected the hardest, smoothest stretch of 
sand. “ Now we’ll walk!” she had laughed, and Blos- 
som had laughed, too. “ Stand up all nice and straight. 


Judith Lynn. 


19 


darling, and walk all beautiful to Judith But Blos- 
som had never stood up all nice and straight; she had 
never walked all beautiful to Judith. And when she 
was three, Judith had given up. 

The story out there was going on : “ After that I 
never tried to make her walk again, poor little sweet! 
We carried her round in our arms till we got her a 
little wheel-chair that she could wheel a little herself. 
She liked that so much — she called it ‘ walking.’ It 
would have broken your heart to hear her say, ‘ See 
me walk, mamma 1’ ” 

“ Oh, yes — yes, it would have,” the other voice 
responded gently. It had grown a very gentle voice 
indeed. Judith wondered in the little flash of thought 
she could spare from Blossom, if the other mother 
were not thinking there might be harder things even 
than laying a little daughter away in a little white 
casket. 

“ But when she was five ” — sudden animation, joy 
and a thrill of laughter had taken possession of the 
voice that was telling the story — “ a little more than 
five — she’s just six now — when she was a little more 
than five, they told us she could walk ! There was a 
way! It was not a very hard way, they said. A 
splendid doctor, with a heart big enough to hold all 
the little crippled children in the universe, would make 
her walk. And so — this is the end of the story — we 
took her across the sea to him. Look at her now ! 


20 Judith Lynn. 

Where is she ? Oh, there ! Marie ! Marie ! Come 
here to mother !” 

Judith slipped away. She was never quite definite 
how she got there, but she found herself presently in 
the old black dory that was drawn up on the beach. 
It was the best place to think, and Judith wanted to 
think. She wanted air enough and room enough to 
think in — this Wonderful Thing took up so much 
room ! It was so big — so wonderful ! 

She sat a long time with her brown chin in her 
brown palms, her eyes on the splendid expanse of 
shining, undulating sea before her. It reached 'way 
across to him — to that tender doctor who made little 
children walk ! If one were to cross it — she and Blos- 
som in the old black dory — and to find him somewhere 
over across there and say to him — if one were to hold 
out little Blossom and say — “ Here’s Blossom ; oh, 
please teach her little legs to walk !” — if one were to do 
that — 

Judith sunk her brown chin deeper into the little 
scoop of her brown, hard palms. Her eyes were begin- 
ning to shine. She began to rock herself back and 
forth and to hum a little song of joy, as if already it 
had happened. The fancy took her that it had hap- 
pened — that when she went up the beach, home, she 
would come on Blossom walking to meet her ! “ See 

me !” Blossom would call out gayly. 

The fancy faded by and by, as did all Judith’s 


21 


Judith Lynn. 

dreams. And Judith went plodding home alone — no 
one came walking to meet her. But there was hope in 
her heart. How it could ever be, she did not know — 
she had not had time to get to that yet — but somehow 
it would be. It should be ! 

“ I won’t tell mother — I’ll tell Uncle Jem,” she 
decided. “ Mother must not be worried — she must 
be surprised !” Judith had decided that. Some day, 
some way. Blossom must walk in on the worn, weary 
little mother and surprise her. 

“ I’ll ask Uncle Jem how,” Judith nodded, as she 
went. Uncle Jem was the old bed-ridden fisherman 
that Judith loved and trusted and consulted. She had 
always consulted Uncle Jem. He lived with Jem 
Three in a tiny, weather-worn cabin near the Lynns. 
Jem Three was Judith’s age — Jem Two was dead. 

“ I’ll go over to-night after supper,” Judith said. 

Uncle Jem lay in the cool, salt twilight, listening, 
as he always did, to the sound of the waves. It was 
his great comfort. He wouldn’t swop his “ pa’r o’ 
ears,” he said, for a mint o’ money — no, sir! Give 
him them ears — Uncle Jem had never been to school — 
an’ he’d make out without legs nor arms nor head! 
That was Uncle Jem’s favorite joke. 

“ Judy I I hear ye stompin’ round out there. I’m 
layin’ low fur ye !” the cheerful voice called, as Judith 
entered the little cabin. 

“ Is Jem Three here?” demanded Judith. 







^WWfWWIWSVy' 




i~MV 




'.svW 




Judith Lynn. 23 

''Here ? — Jemmy Three! I guess you’re failin’ in 
your mind, honey.” 

“ Well, I’m glad he isn’t. I don’t want anybody but 
you — Uncle Jem, how can I get Blossom across the 
sea?” Judith’s eager face followed up this rather 
astonishing speech. Uncle Jem turned to meet them 
both, 

“ Wal, there’s the old dory — or ye mought swim,” 
he answered gravely. He was used to Judy’s speeches. 

“ Because there’s a great man over there that makes 
lame little children walk — he can make Blossom. 
There’s a little child down at the hotel that he made 
walk. I’ve got to take her across, Uncle Jem — I mean 
Blossom. But I don’t know how.” 

“ No, deary, no; I do’ know’s I much wonder. It 
would be consid’able great of a job fur ye. An’ I allow 
it would take a mint o’ money.” 

Strange Judith had not thought of the money! 
Money was so very hard indeed to get, and a mint of 
it — 

“Not a mint — don’t say a mint. Uncle Jem!” she 
pleaded. She went up close to the bed and took one 
of the gnarled old hands in hers and beat it with soft 
impatience up and down on the quilt. 

“ Not a mintr she repeated. 

“ Wal, deary, wal, we’ll see,” comforted the old man. 
“ You set down in that cheer there an’ out with it, the 
hull story! Mind ye don’t leave out none o’ the fix- 


24 


Judith Lynn. 

in’s! Ye can’t rightly see things without ye have all 
the fixin’s by ye. Now, then, deary — ” 

Judith told the thrilling little story with all the 
details at her command. At its end Uncle Jem’s eyes 
were shining as hers had shone. 

“ Judy !” he cried, “ Judy, it’s got to be did I Ye’ve 
got to do it!” 

“ Of course,” Judy answered, with rapt little brown 
face. “ I’m going to. Uncle Jem. But you must help 
me find a way.” 

“ Wal,” — slowly, as Uncle Jem thought with wrin- 
kled brows — “ Wal, I guess about the fust thing to do 
is to go an’ ask that hotel child’s ma how much it cost 
her to go acrost. Then we’ll have that to go by. We 
ain’t got nothin’ to go by now, deary.” 

“ No,” Judith answered, dreamily. She was looking 
out of the little, many-paned window across the distant 
water. It looked like a very great way. 

“ I suppose it’s — pretty far,” she murmured wist- 
fully. 

“ Oh, consid’able — consid’able,” the old man agreed 
vaguely. “ But ye won’t mind that. It won’t be fur 
cornin' home!" 

The faith of the old child and the young was good 
that this beautiful miracle could be brought about. 
Judith went home with elastic step and lifted, trustful 
face. 


Judith Lynn. 


25 


Jem Three, scuffing barefoot through the sandy soil, 
met this radiant dream-maiden with the exalted mien. 
Jem Three was not of exalted mien, and he never 
dreamed. He was brown up to the red rim of his hair, 
and big and homely. But the freckles in line across 
the brownness of his face spelled h-o-n-e-s-t-y. At 
least, they always had before to Judith Lynn and all 
the world. To-night Judith was to read them differ- 
ently. 

“ Hullo, Jude !” 

It is hard to come out of a beautiful dream, plump 
upon a prosaic boy who says, “ Hullo !” It is apt to 
jolt one. It jolted Judith. 

“ Oh ! Oh, it’s you !” she came out enough to say, 
and then went back. The prosaic boy regarded her in 
puzzled wonder. Head up, shoulders back, eyes look- 
ing right through you — what kind of a Jude was this ! 
Was she walking in her sleep? 

“ Hullo, I said” he repeated. “ If you’ve left your 
manners to home — ” 

“ Oh ! — oh, hello, Jem ! I guess I was busy think- 
ing.” 

“ Looked like it. Bad habit to get into. Better look 
out! I never indulge, myself. Well, how’s luck?” 

“Luck? Oh, you mean lobsters?” Judith had not 
been busy thinking of lobsters, but now her grievance 
came back to her. “ Oh, Jem I I never got but three ! 
All my pains for three lobsters I And two of those just 


26 


Judith Lynn. 

long enough not to be short. It means — I suppose it 
means a bad season, doesn’t it?” 

Jem Three pursed his lips into a whistle. After- 
ward, when Judith’s evil thoughts had invaded her 
mind, she remembered that Jem Three had avoided 
looking at her; yes, certainly he had shifted his bare 
toes about in the sand. And when he spoke, his voice 
had certainly sounded muttery. 

“ Guess somethin’ ails your traps,” he had said. 
“ Warn’t nothin’ the matter with mine.” 

“ Did you get more than three ?” 

“ Got a-plenty.” 

“ Jemmy Three, how many’s a-plenty?” 

“ ’Bout twenty-four.” 

Jemmy Three had got twenty-four! Judith turned 
away in -bitterness and envy, and afterwards suspicion. 

There was nothing the matter with her traps. If 
Jem Three got twenty-four lobsters in his, why did she 
get only three in hers? Twenty-four and three. What 
kind of fairness was that ! She could set lobster-traps 
as well as any Jem Three — or Jem Four — or Five — or 
Six. 

There had always been good-natured rivalry between 
the fisher-boy and the fisher-girl, and Judith had usu- 
ally held her own jubilantly. There had never been 
any such difference as this. 

Suddenly was born the evil thought in Judith’s brain. 
It crept in slinkingly, after the way of evil things. 


Judith Lynn. 


27 


“ How do you know but he helped himself out o’ your 
traps?” That was the whisper it whispered to Judith. 
Then, well started, how it ran on ! When you and he 
quarreled a while ago, didn’t he say, ‘ I’ll pay you 
back ’? — didn’t he? You think if he didn’t.” 

“ Oh, he did,” groaned Judith. 

“ W ell, isn’t helping himself to your lobsters paying 
you back?” 

“ Yes — oh, yes, if he did. But Jemmy Three 
never — ” 

“ How do you know he never? Is twenty-four to 
three a fair average? Is it? Is it?” 

“ No, oh, no ! But I don’t believe — ” 

“ Oh, you needn’t believe! Don't believe. Go right 
on finding your traps empty and believing Jemmy 
Three’d never ! I thought you were going to save your 
lobster-money for Blossom.” 

“ Oh, I was — I am going to ! I’m going to save it 
to take her across the ocean to that doctor. It was 
going to be a little wheel-chair, but now it’s going to 
be legs." 

“ But supposing there isn’t any lobster-money? You 
can’t do much with three lobsters a day. If somebody 
helps himself — ” 

“ Stop!” cried Judith angrily, and the evil thought 
slunk away. But it came again — it kept coming. One 
by one, little trivial circumstances built themselves into 
suspicions, until the little brown freckles on Jemmy 


28 


Judith Lynn. 

Three’s face came to spell “ Dishonesty ” to Judith 
Lynn. If it had not been for the terrible need of 
lobster-money — Judith would have fought harder 
against the evil thing if it had not been for that. 

“ I’ve got to have it ! There’s got to be lobsters in 
the traps!” she cried to herself. “The doctor over 
there might die! If he died before I could carry 
Blossom to him, do you think I’d ever forgive Jemmy 
Three ?” — which showed that the Evil Thing had done 
its work. It might slink away now and stay. 

It was a hard night for Judith. Joyful thoughts and 
evil ones conflicted with each other, and among them 
all she could not sleep. It was nearly morning before 
she snuggled up against Blossom’s little warm body 
and shut her eyes. Her plans were made, as far as she 
could make them. To-morrow she would go down 
and question the hotel mother, as Uncle Jem said. 
To-morrow — she must not wait. And after that — 
after that, heaven and earth and the waters of the sea 
must help her. There must be no faithlessness or turn- 
ing back. 

“ You shall walk, little Blossom,” Judith whispered 
softly. 

How could she know how soon the sea would help? 


CHAPTER III. 


44 T WANT to go, Judy — please, please!” 

1 Blossom was up on her elbow, pleading ear- 
nestly. Judith was dressing. 

“ It’s a Blossom day — you know it’s a Blossom day I 
And Jemmy Three’ll carry me down. I know Jemmy 
Three will ! I haven’t been out a-dorying for such a 
long time ; Judy — please !” 

It was always hard work for Judith to refuse Blos- 
som anything. Besides — Judith went to the window 
and lifted the scant little curtain — yes, it certanly was 
a “ Blossom day.” The sky was Blossom-blue, the sea 
spread away out of sight. Blossom-smooth and shining. 
And the little pleader there in the bed looked so eager 
and longing — so Blossom-sweet ! She should go 
” a-dorying,” decided Judith, but it would not be 
Jemmy Three that carried her down to the sea. 

“ You little tease, come on, then I” laughed Judidi. 
“ I’ll dress you in double-quick, for I’ve got to get out 
to my traps.” 

Judith had overslept, for a wonder. When had 
Judith done a thing like that before ! For two hours 
Blossom had been awake, lying very quietly for fear 
of waking Judy; poor, tired Judy must not be dis- 


30 Judith Lynn. 

turbed. Downstairs mother had gone away to her 
work at the beautiful summer cottage down-beach, 
beyond the hotel. It was ironing-day at the cottage, 
and all day mother would stand at the ironing-board, 
ironing dainty summer skirts and gowns. 

“ ril ride in front an’ be a — a what’ll I be, Judy?” 

“ A little bother of a Blossom in a pink dress,” 
laughed Judith, as she buttoned the small garments 
with the swift, deft fingers that had buttoned them for 
six years. 

“ No, no ! a — don’t you know, the kind of a thing 
that brings good luck? You read it to me your own 
self, Judy Lynn !” 

“ I guess you mean a mastif” Judith said slowly. 
“ Queer it sounds so much like a dog ! — it didn’t make 
me think of a dog when I read it.” 

“ M-m — yes, I’ll be a mastif ” — Blossom’s voice was 
doubtful ; it hadn’t reminded her so much of a dog, 
either, at the time. “ An’ so you’ll have good luck. 
You’ll find your traps brim-up full, Judy! Then I 
guess you’ll say, ‘ Oh, how thankful I am I brought 
that child 1’ ” 

Judith caught the little crippled figure closer in a 
loving hug. “ I’m thankful a’ready!” she cried. 

They hurried through the simple breakfast that 
mother had left for them, and then Judith shouldered 
the joyous child and tramped away over the half-mile 
that separated them from the old black dory. 


Judith Lynn. 


31 


“ Now, Judy, now le’s begin right off an’ pretend ! 
Go ahead — you pretending?” 

“ Fm pretending. I’m a chariot and you’re a fine 
lady in pink ging — ” 

“ Ging — !” scorned Blossom. “ Silk, Judy — in pink 
silk, a-ridin’ in the chariot. It’s a very nice, easy 
chariot an’ doesn’t joggle her hip — Oh, I forgot she 
hasn’t got any hips, of course ! Well, here she goes 
a-riding and a-riding along, just as comfortable, but 
pretty soon she says — we’re coming to the beautiful 
part now, Judy ! — ‘ I guess I better get out an’ walk 
now,’ she says. Now pretend she got out and walked, 
Judy — you pretending?” 

“ I’m pretending,” cried Judy, her clasp on the little 
figure tightening and her eyes shining mysteriously. 
Sometime the little fine lady should get out and walk ! 
She should — she should! 

“ Now she’s walking — no, she isn’t, either, she’s rid- 
ing, and it isn’t in a chariot, it’s in her sister’s arms, an’ 
she’s Blossom. Don’t le’s pretend any more, Judy. 
There’s days it’s easy to an’ there’s days it’s hard to — 
it’s a hard-to day, I guess, to-day. Those days you 
can’t pretend get out and walk very well.” 

“ Pretend I’m an elephant !” laughed Judy, though 
the laugh trembled in her throat. “ That’s an easy-to- 
pretend ! And you’re an — Oh, an Arab, driving me ! 
You must talk Arabese, Blossom I” 

Blossom was gay again when they got to the dory 


32 Judith Lynn. 

and Judith dropped her into the bow, out of her own 
weary arms. 

“Now say ‘Heave-ho! — heave-ho ’ 1” commanded 
Judith, “ to help me drag her down, you know. Here 
we go!” 

“ I don’t know the Arabese for ‘ heave-ho,’ ” laughed 
little Blossom, mischievously. “ I could say it in 
American.” 

“ Say it in ‘ American,’ then, you little rogue !” 
panted Judith, all her tough little muscles a-stretch for 
the haul. 

They were presently out on the water, rocking gently 
with the gentle waves. And Blossom was presently 
shouting with delight. Her little lean, sharp face was 
keen with excitement. 

“ Now pretend — now, now, now ! It’s easy to out 
here ! The fine lady’s going abroad, Judy — do you 
hear? She’s going right straight over ’cross this sea, 
in this han’some ship ! When she gets there she’ll step 
out on the shore an’ say what a beautiful voyage she’s 
had, an’ good-by to the cap’n — you’re the cap’n, Judy. 
An’ you’ll say, ‘ Oh, my lady, sha’n’t I help you 
ashore ?’ An’ she’ll laugh right out, it’s so ridic’lous ! 
‘ Help me, my good man !’ she’ll ’xclaim. ‘ I guess 
you must think I can’t walk !’ ” 

Blossom’s face was alive with the joy of the beau- 
tiful “ pretend.” But Judith’s face was sober. 

“ Laugh, why don’t you, Judy?” cried the child. 


Judith Lynn. 33 

‘‘ Fm laugh — I mean I will, dear. But Fve got to 
row like everything now, so you must do the pretend- 
ing for us both. We’ve got to get out there to those 
traps before you can say ‘ scat ’ !” 

“ Scat !” shrilled Blossom. 

It was Blossom’s sharp eyes that discovered Jem 
Three “ out there.” Judith was bending to her work. 

“There’s Jemmy Three, Judy! True-honest, out 
there a-trapping ! He looks ’s if he was coming away 
from our place — he is, Judy! He’s got our lobsters, 
to s’prise us, maybe.” 

“ It won’t surprise me,” muttered Judy, in the 
clutch of the Evil Thought again. She was watching 
the distant boat now keenly, her eyes hard with 
suspicion. Jem Three it surely was, and he was row- 
ing slowly away from Judith’s lobster “ grounds.” 
It seemed to her his dory was deep in the water as if 
heavily weighted. He had been — had been to her 
traps again. He was whistling — Judith could hear 
the faint, sweet sound — but that didn’t hide anything. 
Let him whistle all he wanted to — she knew what he 
had been up to ! 

“ Ship aho-oy !” came across faintly to them, but 
it was only Blossom that answered. 

“ Ahoy ! Ship ahoy !” she sent back clearly. Judith 
bent over her toiling oars. 

“ He’s going away from us, we sha’n’t meet him,” 
Blossom said in disappointment. 

“ Of course he’s going away — of course he won’t 
meet us,” Judith retorted between her little white teeth. 

“ An’ I wanted to ‘ speak him,’ ” the disappointed 


34 


Judith Lynn. 

little voice ran on ; “I was going to call out, ‘ How’s 
the folks abroad? We’re on our way ’cross, in the 
Judiana B.,’ — this is the Judiana B., Judy, after both 
of us. B. stands for me.” 

“ Funny way to spell me !” laughed Judith with an 
effort. She must hide away her black suspicions. 
Not for the world would she have Blossom know ! 
Blossom was so fond of Jemmy Three, and she had 
so few folks to be fond of. 

A surprise was waiting for them “ out there.” The 
traps were pretty well loaded! Not full, any of them, 
but not one of them empty. In all, there were seven- 
teen great, full-grown, glistening, black fellows for 
Blossom to shudder over as she never failed to do — 
Blossom was no part of a fisherman. 

“ He didn’t dare to take them all,” thought Judith, 
refusing to let the Evil Thought get away from her. 
“ Probably he saw us coming. If he’d let ’em alone 
there might have been a lot more — perhaps there were 
fifty!” 

“ One, two, three,” — counted Blossom slowly. 
“ Why, Judy, there’s seventeen. You didn’t s’pose 
there’d be as many as seventeen, did you? Isn’t that 
a splendid lot?” 

“ Not as splendid as fifty,” answered Judy, assured 
now that there had been as many as that. 

“ Seventeen from fifty is thirty — thirty-two,” whis- 
pered the Evil Thing in her ear. Evil things cannot 
be expected to be good in arithmetic or anything else. 
“So he helped himself to thirty-two, did he! Nice 
haul ! Thirty-two big fellows will bring him in — ” 


Judith Lynn. 35 

“ Don’t !” groaned Judith. 

“ I don’t wonder you say ‘ don’t !’ Thirty-two nice 
big fellows would have brought you in a pretty little 
sum. You could have put it away in a stocking in 
your bureau drawer, for the Blossom-fund.” 

“ Oh, I was going to! I was going to!” 

“ Thought so — well, you’ll have to get along with 
seventeen. That comes of having boys like that for 
friends !” 

“ He isn’t my friend !” Judith cried sharply to the 
Evil Thing in her breast. “ He never will be again. 
If it wasn’t for Uncle Jem I’d never look at him again 
as long as I live !” 

All this little dialogue had gone on unsuspected by 
the little pink “ mastif ” in the bow of the little dory. 
Blossom had been busy edging out of the reach of the 
ugly things in the bottom of the boat. If Judith had 
only edged away from her Ugly Thing! 

Another surprise was even now on the way — a sur- 
prise so stupendous and unexpected that, beside it, 
the lobster-surprise would dwindle away into insig- 
nificance and be quite forgotten for the rest of the 
day. And oddly enough, it was to be Blossom who 
should be discoverer again. 

“ I’m going a little farther out and fish awhile,” 
Judith announced over her last trap. “ I’ve got all 
my tackle aboard and maybe I can find something 
Mrs. Ben will want. You sit still as a mouse. Blossom, 
for I can’t be watching you and fishing, too.” 

“I’ll sit still as two mice. Needn’t think o’ me!” 
answered the little one proudly. Did Judy think she 


36 Judith Lynn. 

was little like that? Just because she hadn’t legs that 
would go ! They didn’t need to go, did they, out here 
in the middle of the sea ! 

“ What makes it look so ripply an’ bubbly out 
there?” she questioned with grown-up dignity. Judy 
should see she could sit still and talk like anybody. 

“Where?” asked Judith absently. She did not take 
the trouble to follow the little pointing finger with 
her eyes. 

'‘There — why don’t you look? It’s all pretty an’ 
ripply an’ kind of queer. Doesn’t look like plain water 
’xactly. Look, Judy — why don’t you?” 

“ I am looking now — Oh, Oh, wait ! It looks like — 
Blossom, I believe it’s a school ! That’s the way the 
water always loo — Blossom, Blossom, do you hear me, 
it’s a school ! A school of mackerel — a school, I tell 
you !” 

“ Well, you needn’t keep on a- telling me.” Blos- 
som, anyway, was calm. “ I’m not deaf o’ hearing, 
am I? If it’s a school, le’s us go right straight out 
there an’ fish it up, Judy.” 

Judy was going right straight out there with all the 
strength of her powerful young arms. She was not 
calm; her face was quivering with excitement and 
joy. A school! A school! Oh, but that meant so 
much for the Blossom-fund, to put away in the stock- 
ing in the bureau drawer! If it should prove a big 
school — but she and Blossom could not manage a big 
one, never in the world. If Jemmy Thr — no, no, not 
Jemmy Three! This was not Jemmy Three’s school — 
what had he to do with it? 



" LOOK HERE ! WHY DON’T YOU ?” 


37 






38 Judith Lynn. 

In all the stress and excitement of sending the old 
dory out there where the water was rippling its news 
to her, Judy had time to think of several things. She 
had time to remember how she and Jem Three had 
used, from the time they were little brown things in 
pinafores, to plan about their first school o’ mackerel 
— what they would do with all the wealth it should 
bring them, how they would share it together, how 
they would pull in the silvery, glistening fellows, side 
by side. What plans — what plans they had made ! 
They had practiced a shrill, piercing call that was to 
summon the one of them who should happen to be 
absent when the “ school ” was descried out there in 
the bay. Even lately, big and old as they had grown, 
they had laughingly reviewed that call. Now — this 
minute — if Judith were to utter it, piercing and far- 
carrying and jubilant, perhaps Jemmy Three might 
hear and come plowing through the waves to get his 
share — had he any share? Because when they were 
little brown things they had made vows, did that give 
him any rights now? 

Of course, if — if things had been different — lobster- 
things — Judith might have pursed her lips into that 
triumphant summons. But — 

“ Sit still! I’m going to swing her round!” called 
Judith sharply. “ I’ve got to go ashore for father’s 
old net. It’s in the boat-house.” 

“ You won’t leave me, Judy — promise you’ll take 
me out with you!” pleaded Blossom, eagerly. 

“ I’ll have to,” Judith responded briefly. ‘‘ There 
isn’t time to carry you home — I don’t dare take time.” 


Judith Lynn. 39 

She made her plans as she went in, and put out 
again with the clumsy heap of netting towering at her 
feet. The thing she meant to do was stupendous for 
a girl to attempt alone, but she was going to attempt 
it. The shabby old net had lain in its corner, useless, 
for two years. Now it should be used — she, Judith 
Lynn would use it! She was glad as she pulled sea- 
ward again that she had thrown in two scoops — per- 
haps when the time came Blossom could make out to 
use one a little. 

The net was like a long — a very long — fence, with 
its lower edge weighted heavily and its upper edge 
provided with wooden floats, to insure its standing 
erect under water. When in position properly it sur- 
rounded the school of fish, completely fencing in the 
darting, glimmering, silver fellows. Then the circle 
could be gradually narrowed and the fish brought 
together in a mass, when scoops could be used to dip 
them up into the boat. 

The school once located, Judith began to circle 
slowly round it, “ paying out ” her fence of netting 
with no small difficulty, but gradually surrounding the 
unsuspected fish, until at length she had them penned. 

What did I tell you I I told you Fd be the — the 
mastif, Judy !” Blossom chattered. “ I told you you’d 
say how thankful you was you brought that child !” 

“ How thankful I am I” chattered Judy. Then, 
launched into the thick of the arduous work, they both 
fell into breathless silence and only worked. It was 
not much Blossom could do, but she did her little 
splendidly. And Judith toiled with all her strength. 


40 


Judith Lynn. 

They stopped at last, not because there were no 
more of the glistening, silver fellows about them, but 
because the old black dory was weighted almost to the 
water’s edge. They had to stop. And then began 
Judith’s terrible hour. For the heavy boat must some- 
how be worked back, a weary little at a time, to the 
distant shore. Judith set herself to this new task gal- 
lantly, but it was almost too much for her. Over and 
over again it seemed to her she must give it up and 
toss overboard part, at least, of her silver freight, to 
lighten her load. But over and over again she nerved 
herself to another spurt of strength. 

She must do it! She could not give up! She 
would shut her eyes, like this, and row ten more 
strokes — just ten more. Then she would row ten with 
her eyes open. Ten, shut — ten, open. Perhaps that 
would help. She tried it. She tried other poor little 
devices — calling the strokes “ eenie, meenie, minie, 
mo,” the way she and Jemmy Three had “ counted 
out ” for tag when they were little — brown — things. 
Her strength — was surely — giving out — it shouldn’t 
give out! 

Blossom, watching silently from her weary perch, 
grew frightened at Judy’s tense, set face and began 
to sob. And then Judy must find breath enough to 
laugh reassuringly and to nod over her shoulder at the 
child. 

They had gone out late — had been out a wearisome 
time — and the journey back to land was measured of? 
by slow, laboring oar-strokes that scarcely seemed to 
move the great boat. So it was late afternoon when 


Judith Lynn. 41 

at length Judith’s hard task was done. She seemed to 
possess but one desire — to rest. To get Blossom over 
the remaining half mile between her and home and 
then to tumble over on the bed and sleep — what more 
could anyone wish than that? 

But there would be more than that to do. She 
must get food for tired little Blossom, if not for her- 
self. And before this towered gigantically the two 
last feats of strength that faced her and seemed to 
laugh at her with sardonic glee. 

“ Drag me up on the beach — drag me up !” the old 
black dory taunted her. 

“ Carry me home, Judy, I’m so tired ! — carry me 
home,” Blossom pleaded, like a little wilted blossom. 

She did both things, but she never quite realized 
just how she could have done them. She remembered 
telling herself she couldn’t and then finding them 
done. Of covering her load of mackerel with an old 
rubber blanket she was dimly conscious. It was not 
until she lay drowsing in utter exhaustion on her own 
bed that she thought of all of the rest that must be 
done to that boat-load of precious freight. Then she 
tried to sit up, with a cry of distress. 

I must go ! I can’t stay here ! Or I shall lose — 
Oh, what shall I lose ?” she groaned in her drowsiness 
and dread. Something would happen if she did not 
get up at once — she would lose something that she 
mustn’t lose. She must get up now, at once. 

“ I shall lose Blossom — no, I mean Blossom will 
lose — oh, yes, Blossom will lose her legs, if I don’t get 
up,” she drowsed, and fell asleep. 


CHAPTER IV. 


J UDITH awoke with a bewildering sensation of 
guilt and need of action. What had happened? 
What had she done that she ought not to have done? 
— or was it something that she ought to? Memory 
struggled back to her dimly, then flashed upon her 
in sudden clearness. 

She had taken a school of mackerel — that was what 
she had done that was praiseworthy. She had left 
them down there in the old black dory, undressed and 
unpacked — that was the thing she ought not to have 
done. That was the awful thing ! For if they were not 
dressed and packed at once — 

“ Oh, I shall lose them ! I s^ll lose them !” moaned 
poor Judith, sitting up in bed and wringing her hands 
in the keenness of her distress. “ How could I have 
let myself fall asleep! How could I have slept all 
this time like a log!” 

It was very dark, so it must be midnight or later. 
There was no light anywhere, on land or sea, or in 
Judith’s troubled soul. To her remorseful mind all 
her terrible labor and strain of body had been in vain ; 
she had gone to sleep and spoiled everything, every- 
thing ! 

Judith had never been so utterly tired out as when 
she went to sleep ; she had never been so tired as she 
was now. She felt lame in every joint and muscle of 

42 


Judith Lynn. 43 

her body. But her conscience stood up before her in 
the dark and arraigned her with pitiless, scathing 
scorn. 

“ Well, aren’t you ashamed of yourself? See what 
you’ve done ! All those beautiful fish lost, when you 
might have saved them — just by staying awake and 
attending to them. A little thing like that ! And you 
worked so hard to get them — I was proud of you for 
that. Ah-h, but I’m ashamed of you now!” 

“ Don’t! don’t — you hurt!” sighed Judith, “I’ll get 
up now, this minute, and go down there. Don’t you 
see me getting up? I’ve got one shoe on now.” 

Judith was not experienced in the dressing of many 
fish at a time and the packing of them in barrels for 
market. At sixteen, how can one be — and one a girl? 
But she knew in a rather indefinite way the impor- 
tance of having it done promptly. She repiembered 
father’s and the boys’ last school of fish — how she had 
hurried down to the shore and watched the dory come 
creeping heavily in, how the boys had cheered, as 
they came, how father had let her help at the dress- 
ing, and mother had brought down hot coffee for 
them all and then “ fallen to,” herself and worked like 
a man. How they all had worked to get the barrels 
packed full of the shining layers in time for the 
steamer next morning! 

All this Judith remembered as she crept silently 
away through the darkness and turned toward the 
salty spray that the wind tossed in her face. That had 
been a phenomenally large school of mackerel — eigh- 
teen barrels for market in the distant city. Judith was 


44 Judith Lynn. 

not quite sure, but she thought the check that Came 
back to father had been for a hundred and fifty dollars. 
Mackerel had been in great demand then. A hundred 
^nd fifty dollars! Judith stopped short and caught 
her breath. 

“ But my school was just a little one,” she thought, 
“ and maybe people aren’t very mackerel hungry 
now.” Still, a hundred dollars — or even fifty — fifty 
dollars would go so far toward that doctor across the 
sea! Supposing she had lost fifty dollars! She hur- 
ried on through the black night, not knowing what 
she should do when she got to her destination, but 
eager to do something. The lantern she carried cast 
a smair glimmer into the great dark. 

Judith was not afraid — how long had it been since 
she was afraid of the dark? But a distant thrill shot 
through her when she saw another faint glimmer 
ahead of her. Then it seemed to divide into two glim- 
mers — they blinked at her like evil eyes. They were 
straight ahead ; she was going toward them ! She 
must go toward them if she went to the old dory 
drawn up on the beach. 

“And I’m going!” Judy said defiantly. “Blink 
away, you old bad-y two-eyes! Wait till I get there 
and fix you!” It helped to laugh a little and nod 
defiance at the blinking eyes. 

The salty spray increased to a gentle rain, buffeting 
her cheeks. The steady boom of the breakers was in 
her ears like the familiar voice of a friend. Judith 
tramped on resolutely. 

The lights were two lanterns, sheltered from the 


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46 


Judith Lynn. 

wind, beside the old black dory. Judith came upon 
them and cried out in astonishment. For she had 
come upon something else — a boy, dressing fish as if 
his life depended on it ! 

“Jemmy Three!” she ejaculated shrilly. 

The boy neither turned about nor stopped. 

“Hullo! That you, Jude? Got a lantern? Take 
that knife there an’ go to work like chain lightnin’. 
I’ve filled two barrels — there isn’t any time to lose, 
now, I tell you ! Steamer’s due at seven.” 

“ But — but — I don’t understand — ” faltered Judith. 

“ Well, you needn’t, till you get plenty o’ time. 
Understandin’ don’t dress no fish.” Jemmy Three, 
like Jem One, had missed his rightful share of school- 
ing. “ What we got to do now is dress fish.” 

Judith went to work obediently, but the wonder 
went on in her mind. What did it all mean? How 
had Jemmy Three found out about the mackerel? 
Why was he down here in the dead of night dressing 
and packing them? 

By and by the boy saw fit to explain in little jerks 
over his shoulder. Judith pieced them together into 
a strange, beautiful story that made her throat throb. 

“ Saw you had a load here — saw ’twas mackerel — 
knew they’d got to be ’tended to — ’tended to ’em,” 
Jemmy Three slung over his shoulder, as he worked. 

“ Suspicioned you’d struck a school, and gone home 
clean tuckered. Oh, but you’re a smart one, Jude ! 
Couldn’t no other girl ’a’ done it, sir, this side o’ the 
Atlantic !” 

He caught up the dressed fish and bent over a fresh 


Judith Lynn. 47 

barrel ; his voice sounded muffled and hollow to 
Judith. 

“ Knew there weren’t no time to spare — nobody 
hereabouts to help out — went at it myself all flyin’, 
— been down here since seven o’clock.” 

“ Oh, Jemmy !” Judith trembled. The throb in her 
throat hurt her. “ What time is it now ?” she asked. 

A grunt issued from the barrel depths. “ Time ! 
Ain’t any time now ! I told you we’d got to fly !” 

It was almost twelve. They worked on, for the 
most part silently, until daylight began to redden the 
east. One barrel after another was headed up by 
Jemmy Three’s tireless hands. Judith counted barrels 
mechanically as she toiled. 

“Four!” she cried. Then, “Five!” “Six!” 

“ There’ll be a good eight — you see,” Jem Three 
said, rolling a new one into position. “ You’ll get a 
good fifty dollars, Jude ; see if you don’t ! How’s that 
for one haul? Ain’t any other girl could ’a’ done it!” 

“Oh, don’t!” sobbed Judith suddenly. She let a 
little silver fellow slip to the ground, half-dressed, and 
went over to Jemmy Three. 

“ Don’t say another word — don’t dress another fish 
— don’t move till I tell you !” she cried. “ I can’t 
stand it another minute! I — I thought you helped 
yourself to my lobsters — I thought I thought it. And 
you’ve been here all night working for me — ” 

“ Oh !” cried Jemmy Three softly. But he did not 
stop working. 

“ I thought that was why there were only three 
yesterday — I thought there’d have been fifty to-day,” 


48 Judith Lynn. 

ran on Judith. The new daylight lighted her ashamed 
face redly, like a blush. 

“ There wouldn’t ’a’ been but five — ” said Jemmy 
Three, then caught himself up in confusion. The blush 
was on his face now. 

Judith’s cry rang out above the sea-talk. “ Then 
you put some in !” she cried, “ instead of helping your- 
self. You put some in my traps. Jemmy Three — that’s 
what you did ! You put in 

“ Guess there’s somethin’ the matter with your traps, 
Jude,” muttered the boy. “ Guess they better be over- 
hauled — guess a fellow’s gotter right to go shares, 
ain’t he?” 

“ Jemmy Three, I’m going to hug you !” 

“ Oh, oh — say, look out ; I’m all scales !” 

“ I had scales on my eyes, but they’ve fallen off 
now,” laughed the girl tremulously. “ It’s worse to 
have scales on your eyes than all over the rest o’ you. 
I can see things as plain as day now, and — and — you 
look perfectly beautiful !” 

“ Hold on — I’m dressin’ fish ! The steamer’s due 
at seven — ” 

“ I don’t care if she’s due this minute. I’ve got to 
talk! If she was in plain sight — if I could see her 
smokestack — I should have to talk. I tell you I can 
see now, and you look splendid — splendid, and I look 
like a little black — blot. To think of my being up 
home asleep, and you working down here, dressing 
my fish — and me thinking those mean thoughts of 
you! It makes me so ashamed I can’t hold my 
kn-knife.” 


Judith Lynn. 49 

Judith was crying now in good earnest. She had 
sunk down on the sand, and her crouching figure with 
the red glow from the east upon it looked oddly 
childish and small. Jemmy Three saw it over his 
shoulder. 

“ Look a-here, Judy,” he said gently, dropping his 
own knife and going over to the rocking, sobbing 
figure. “ You look a-here, I tell you ! What you cry- 
in’ for, with eight barrels o’ fish ’most packed an’ a 
good fifty dollars ’most in your pocket? You better 
laugh! Come on, get up, and let’s give a rouser! 
Three cheers for the only girl in the land o’ the free 
an’ the home o’ the brave that darst tackle a school 
o’ mack’rel alone ! Hip, hip — ” 

“Jemmy, Jemmy, don’t!” 

‘'Hooray! Now let’s dress fish. You’re all right — 
don’t you worry about bein’ a blot, when I tell you 
you’re a reg’lar brick ! I’m proud o’ you !” 

It was the longest speech Jemmy Three had ever 
made, and the peroration surprised himself as much 
as it did Judith. He put up his hand and cleared 
something away from his eyes — it couldn’t have been 
scales, for he left the scales there. 

At five mother came hurrying down to find Judith. 
The scale-strewn beach and the scale-strewn children, 
the barrels in orderly rows waiting to be rolled to the 
little landing-place of the steamer, the heap of clumsy 
wet netting — all told her the whole astonishing story. 
And what they did not tell, Judith supplemented 
eagerly. 

“ I declare ! I declare !” gasped mother in mingled 


50 Judith Lynn. 

pride and pity, “ you two poor things, putting in like 
this! You’ll be tired to death — you’ll be sick abed I” 

“ Guess we’ll weather it,” nodded Jemmy Three, 
working steadily. “ But if you think we ain’t hungry 
enough to eat a pine shing — ” 

“ I’ll go right home and boil some coffee and eggs 
and bring ’em down, and then I’ll go to work, too,” 
cried mother energetically. “ You poor starved 
things 1” 

After a salt toilet in the surf, they ate a hurried 
breakfast with keen relish. Judith had forgotten her 
aching joints and lame muscles, and Jemmy Three had 
forgotten his sleepless night. Victory lay just ahead 
of them, and who cared for muscles or sleep ! 

“ This is the best bread ’n’ butter I ever ate,” said 
Judith between bites. 

There proved to be the “ good eight ” barrels, when 
they were done, and they were done by six o’clock, or 
a very little after. By half-past six, the barrels had 
been rolled down the slope of the beach to the little 
wharf not far away. Then the tired two rested, and 
remembered muscles and sleep. 

They dropped in the soft, moist sand and rubbed 
their aching arms. 

“ I’m proud o’ you. Jemmy 1” Judith said shyly, and 
looked away over the water. Her repentance had 
come back and lay heavily on her heart. She longed 
unutterably to recall those evil thoughts — to have 
another chance out there beyond to summon Jemmy 
Three with the little shrill old signal. How she would 
send it shrilling forth now I 


Judith Lynn. 51 

“ Jemmy,” she said slowly, as they waited, “ you 
know our signal, don’t you? The one we used to 
practice so much.” 

For answer Jemmy Three pursed his lips and sent 
out a clear “ carrying ” cry. 

“ Well, I wish — don’t you know what I wish?” 

“ ’Twas Christmas,” Jemmy said flippantly, but he 
knew. He dug his bare toes in the sand — a sign of 
embarrassment. 

“ I wish I’d called you out there at the school !” 
lamented Judith, “ even if you couldn’t have heard. 
I wish — I wish — I wish I’d called ! If I ever strike 
another school — Jemmy, I’d give you half o’ this one 
if I dared to. But I’m afraid to have Blossom wait — 
I don’t dare to !” 

” O’ course not,” agreed Jem Three vaguely. He 
did not at all know what Judith meant. Girls had 
queer ways of beginnin’ things in the middle like that. 
No knowin’ what a girl was drivin’ at, half the time! 

“ Jemmy — say — ” 

“ What say? Ain’t that smoke out there?” 

“ No, it’s a cloud. Jemmy Three, I’m going to tell 
you something. I want to. I’m going to tell you what 
that money’s going to do — vou’re listening, aren’t 
you?” 

“ With both ears— go ahead.” 

“ Well — oh, it’s going to be something so beautiful, 
Jemmy! I never knew till day before yesterday that 
you could do anything so beautiful — I mean that any- 
body could. I never dreamed it ! But you can — some- 
body can ! There’s a man can. Jemmy ! All you need 


52 Judith Lynn. 

is money to take you across to him and — there’s the 
money !” waving her hand toward the rows of barrels. 
Her eyes were shining like twin stars. She had for- 
gotten aches and lameness again. 

“ I told Uncle Jem,” she went on rapidly, while 
Jem Three gazed at her in puzzled wonder and 
thought more things about girls. “ He told me to go 
down to the hotel and ask that other little girl’s 
mother, and I meant to go last night! But I went to 
sleep last night! So I’m going to-day — I’m going to 
ask her to tell me just exactly how to do it.” 

“ Do what?” inquired Jem Three quietly. That was 
the only way to do with girls — pull ’em up smart, like 
that ! 

“ Mercy ! Haven’t I told you ?” cried Judith. “ Well, 
then — Jemmy, if you were a little mite of a thing — a 
Blossom, say — and a fairy came to you and said, 
‘ Wish a wish, my dear ; what would you rather have 
in all the world?’ what would you answer, Jemmy? 
Remember, if you were a little mite of a Blossom with 
a — with a — little broken stem.” Judith’s voice sank 
to a tender softness. She didn’t know she was “ mak- 
ing poetry.” 

The boy with his toes deep in the sand was visibly 
embarrassed. Whatever poetry lay soul-deep within 
him, there was none he could call to his lips. 

“ Wouldn’t you answer her, ‘ Legs to walk with ’ ?” 
went on the girl beside him softly. “ You know you 
would. Jemmy! / would — everybody would. You’d 
say, ‘ The beautifulest thing in the world would be to 
walk — dear fairy, I want to walk so much !’ And then 


Judith Lynn. 53 

supposing — are you supposing? — the fairy waved her 
wand over you and you — walked! Do you know what 
you’d say then ? I know — you’d say, ‘ See me ! Judy, 
see me ! Jemmy, everybody, see me !’ ” 

Judith laughed to herself under her breath. The 
twin stars in her eyes shone even a little brighter. 

“ The fairy’s a great doctor — he’s across there, 
’way, ’way out of sight. He’s going to wave his wand 
over Blossom. He waved it over another little broken 
girl, and she walked. I saw her. She said, ‘ See me!’ 
— I heard her. That’s what the money is going to do. 
Jemmy.” 

“ Gee !” breathed Jemmy softly. It was his way of 
making poetry. 

“ And you see, I don’t dare to wait — I’m afraid 
something might happen to that doctor.” 

“ O’ course 1 — you go down there all flyin’ an’ see 
that woman, Jude.” 

And that afternoon Judith went. It was to Mrs. Ben 
she went first ; she felt acquainted with Mrs. Ben. 

“ Can I see — I’d like to see that mother whose little 
girl can walk,” Judith said eagerly. 

“Land!” ejaculated Mrs. Ben. 

“ I mean,” explained Judith, smiling, “ whose little 
girl was lame and a doctor made her walk by waving 
his wa — I mean by — by curing her. I heard her tell- 
ing another mother. I’d like to see — do you suppose 
I could see that lady?” 

“ I guess I know who you mean — there ain’t been 
but one little girl here lately,” Mrs. Ben said. “ But 
there ain’t any now. They’ve gone away.” 


CHAPTER V. 


J UDITH went straight to Uncle Jem, sobbing all 
the way unconsciously; she was not conscious of 
anything but what Mrs. Ben had said. 

“ They’ve gone away ! — they’ve gone away ! — 
they’ve gone away !” It reiterated itself to her in dull 
monotony, keeping slow time with the throbbing pain 
of her disappointment. 

Uncle Jem heard her coming — in some surprise, she 
came so fast. What was the child hurrying like that 
for ? What had happened ? 

“I hear ye, child!” he called cheerily. The time- 
worn little pleasantry did him service as usual. “ I’m 
layin’ low for ye I” 

She crossed the outer threshold and the little box of 
a kitchen without slackening her excited pace, and 
appeared in the old man’s doorway, breathless and 
flushed. 

“ It’s too late !” she gasped, briefly. Then, because 
she needed comforting and Uncle Jem was her com- 
forter of old, her head went down on the patchwork 
quilt that covered his twisted old frame, and she cried 
like a grief-struck little child. 

“ There, there, deary !” he crooned, his twisted 
fingers traveling across her hair, “ jest you lay there 
an’ cry it all out — don’t ye hurry any. When ye get 
all done an’ good an’ ready, tell Uncle Jem what it’s 
all about. But take your time, little un — take your 
time.” 


54 


55 


Judith Lynn. 

The child was worn out in every thread of the over- 
strained young body. The excitement and nervous 
rack of the last twenty- four hours was having sway 
now, and would not be put aside. And the keen disap- 
pointment that Mrs. Ben’s words had brought, added 
to all the rest, had proved too much even for Judith 
Lynn. She cried on, taking her time. 

“ There now ! that’s right, storm’s clearin’ !” said 
Uncle Jem, as at length the brown head lifted slowly. 
“ Now we’ll pull out o’ harbor and get to work.” 
Which meant that now explanations were in order. 
Judith understood. 

“ They’ve gone away !” she said thickly. It takes 
time for throbbing throats to come back to their own. 
“ It’s too late to find out. If I’d gone yesterday — ” 
She stopped hastily, on the verge of fresh tears. 

“ Go ahead, little un ; weather’s a little too thick yet 
to see clear. Who’s gone away? What’s it too late 
for?” But even as he said it. Uncle Jem, too, under- 
stood. He went on without waiting, to give Judith 
more time. 

“ Hold on ! — I can pull out o’ the fog myself. That 
mother o’ that little cured un — she’s the one that’s 
gone away, eh? You was too late to see her an’ ask 
your questions. I see. Well, now, I call that too bad. 
But ’tain’t worth another cry, deary.” 

“ Well, I won’t cry another one, so there !” cried 
Judith. “ Only — only — ” 

‘‘ I know — I know ! We’ve got to slew off on an- 
other tack. You give Uncle Jem time to think, Judy. 
There’s a powerful lot o’ thinkin’-time handy when 


56 Judith Lynn. 

you lay here on your back for a livin’. Jest you run 
home an’ let your ma put you to bed. Fve heard all 
about your goin’s-on, an’ I guess bed’s the best place 
for you ! I’ll think it out while you’re restin’ up.” 

But to unlettered people who rarely get in touch 
with what is going on in the thick of things, “ think- 
ing it out ” is no easy matter. Their one frail little 
hold on the miracle that could make Blossom whole 
had snapped when the hotel mother and child went 
away. Where to turn next for information — what to 
do next — was a puzzle that would not unravel for any 
of them. In vain Uncle Jem wrestled with it, as he 
lay through long, patient hours. And Judith wrestled 
untiringly. 

The mackerel-money came in due time, but the won- 
drous little blue check that came out of the official- 
looking envelope and lay outspread on Judith’s 
hard, brown palm had lost its power to give legs to 
little Blossom, and Judith gazed at it resentfully. 
What was the use of it now ? A small part of it would 
get the little wheel-chair, but it was not a wheel-chair 
Judith longed for now. She put away the blue check 
safely, and took up the wrestling again. She would 
find the clue to the puzzle — she refused to give it up. 

Then quite privately and uninvited. Jemmy Three 
began to think. No one had thought of asking his 
advice; thinking had never been Jemmy Three’s 
stronghold. 

He went into his grandfather’s room one early 
morning arrayed in his best clothes. Not much in the 
way of a “ best,” but Jemmy had “ pieced out ” as 


Judith Lynn. 57 

well as possible with scraps of his dead father’s best 
that had been packed away. He looked unduly big 
and plain and awkward in the unaccustomed finery, 
but the freckles across the deep brown background of 
his face spelled d-e-t-e-r-m-i-n-a-t-i-o-n. Uncle Jem 
spelled it out slowly. His astonished gaze wandered 
downward, then, from “ best ” to “ best.” 

“Well?” he interrogated, and waited. 

“ I’m goin’ to the city, gran’father,” the boy said. 
“ I’ve gotter, on a — a — errand. I thought I’d tell you.” 

“ Good idea !” nodded the old head on the pillows. 
The old eyes twinkled kindly. “ I suppose ye want 
me to go out to your traps, don’t ye? An’ do a little 
trawlin’ while I’m out? Jest speak the word!” 

Uncle Jemmy said nothing about getting his own 
dinner, but the boy had thought of that. 

“ Judy’s cornin’ in at noon,” he explained. “ I’ve 
got everythin’ cooked up. An’ she’s goin’ to look at 
my traps when she goes out to hers. I’ll be back in 
the night, sometime ; don’t you lay awake for me, now, 
gran’father !” 

He went out, but presently appeared again, fum- 
bling his best cap in palpable embarrassment. 

“ I wish — I don’t suppose — you wouldn’t mind 
wishin’ me good luck, gran’father, would you?” he 
stammered. “ I’d kind of like to be wished good luck.” 

“ Come here where I can reach ye,” the old man 
said cheerily, putting out his hand. “ Wish ye luck ? 
I guess I will! Ye’re a good boy. Jemmy. I don’t 
know what your arrant is, an’ I don’t need to know, 
but here’s good luck on it !” 


58 


Judith Lynn. 

“ I tell you what it is, if — if it succeeds,” Jem Three 
said, gripping the twisted old fingers warmly. “ I 
kind of thought I’d rather not tell first ofif. But I 
can, of course.” 

“ Ofif with ye, boy! Ye distract me when I’m doin’ 
a bit of thinkin’ for a lady! When ye get good an’ 
ready, then will be time enough to do your tellin’. 
Queer if I couldn’t trust a Jem !” 

The city was twenty miles inland from the little flag- 
station, and the flag-station was ten miles away from 
Jemmy Three. He trudged away with his precious 
boots over his shoulder, to be put on at the little 
station. 

Once in the city, he went directly about his “ arrant.” 
He chose a street set thick with dwelling-houses as 
like one another as peas in a pod are like. He tramped 
down one side of the street, up the other, till at last 
he came upon what he sought. A smart sign hung 
on that particular house, and Jem Three mounted the 
high steps and rang the door-bell. 

“Is this a doctor’s house? There’s a sign that 
says — ” 

“ The doctor isn’t at home,” the smart maid said 
smartly. “ Will you leave your address on the slate, 
or will you call again at office hours — two till six.” 

“ I’ll call somewheres else,” Jem Three said briefly. 

He called at many doors in many rows of pea — of 
houses. It was sometime before he succeeded in his 
quest. When at length he found a doctor at home, 
he was closeted with him for a brief space and then 
drove away with him in a trim little gig to a great. 


59 


Judith Lynn. 

many-windowed house where pale people were sun- 
ning themselves in wheel-chairs about the doors. Jem 
Three made a call at the many-windowed house. 

It was with considerable curiosity that two people 
down by the sea awaited the boy’s return from his 
trip, but oddly enough it was neither Uncle Jem nor 
Judith that he sought out at first. It was Judith’s 
mother, at her work down-beach at the summer cot- 
tage. Jemmy Three went straight to her. He had 
got home earlier than he expected and mother had 
worked later, so they walked back together in the cool, 
clear evening, talking all the way. 

“ Don’t tell Judy,” the boy said the last thing, as 
they parted. “ I mean, not it. It’ll be splendid to 
surprise her. Mis’ Lynn !” 

“If we can. Jemmy,” the mother answered gently. 
“If it succeeds. The more I think of it the more it 
makes me tremble. Jemmy; but we’ll do our best and 
leave the part we can’t do with the One who can do 
it.” The gentle voice trembled into silence. Mother 
•could “ make poetry,” too. Jemmy caught off his hat 
suddenly, and the very act was a little prayer. 

“Judy, are you awake?” 

Mother stood over the bed in her scant white night- 
gown. When Judith answered, she sat down beside 
her and felt for one of her calloused, oar-toughened 
little hands. 

“ Judy, would it be — be all right to use some of the 
mackerel-money? Mother’s got to go away for a 


60 JuDiT^; Lynn. 

little while — just a little while, Judy. Jemmy says he 
talked with a man in the city who would give me 
some work to do in his kitchen for a little while. But 
— why, I thought I’d take Blossom, Judy, and of 
course that would mean spending some money — ” 

“ Blossom !” 

Judith sat straight up in bed, her eyes like glints of 
light in the darkness. 

“Why, yes, dear; she’s never been away from the 
sea in her little life. You think of that, Judy! You’ve 
been away twice. Blossom never saw a steam-car nor 
a city, nor — nor heard a hand-organ ! Jemmy says he 
heard three to-day. You think how pleased Blossom 
would be to hear a hand-organ !” 

“ Sh!’’ cautioned Judith, “don’t wake her, mother. 
If — she’s going, she mustn’t know beforehand.” 

Blossom going away! Not Blossom! Not put one 
hand out, so, in the dark and feel her there beside you 
— little warm Blossom ! Not dress her in the morning 
and carry her downstairs — you the chariot and she 
the fine lady! Not hurry home to her from the traps! 
Judith lay and thought about all that, after mother 
went away. She put out her hand on the empty side 
of the bed, where no Blossom was, and tried to get 
used to the emptiness. She said stern things to her- 
self. 

“ You, Judy, are you selfish as thatf' she said. “ To 
go and begrudge your little Blossom a chance to go 
away and see things and hear things ! Don’t you want 
her to hear a hand-organ? And perhaps see a monkey f 
When she’s never been anywhere, nor heard anything, 


61 


Judith Lynn. 

nor seen anything! When mother’s going, anyway, 
and can take her as well as not — you Judy, you Judy, 
you Judy ! Oh, I can’t sleep with you, I’m so ashamed 
of you!” 

They went at once, and Judith settled down to her 
loneliness as best she could, and bore it as bravely. 
They were to be gone a month — perhaps two — perhaps 
three. A month — two, maybe — three, maybe — with- 
out Blossom! 

Uncle Jem and Jemmy Three helped out — how 
much they did help out ! Then there were the rare, 
precious letters. Judith had never had letters from 
mother before in all her sixteen years. She was rather 
disappointed that there were no bits of ragged, printed 
ones from Blossom, but mother’s letters had Blossom- 
bulletins. Blossom sent her love. Blossom had heard 
two hand-organs — three hand-organs; Blossom said 
tell Judy she loved her, oh, my ! Blossom was very 
patient and sweet. 

“ She’s always patient and sweet,” wondered Judy. 
Queer mother put that in ! 

“ You little sweet, patient Blossom !” Judith’s heart 
cried tenderly, “ when I get you in my arms again — ” 

Would the time ever come? Why were days made 
so long? Twenty-four hours were too many — why 
weren’t they made with only twenty? 

“ Uncle Jem, why don’t you tell me how to be sweet 
and patient?” Judith said, folding up the Blossom- 
bulletin she had been reading to him. “ Tell me a 
good receipt.” 


62 Judith Lynn. 

“ Well, deary — well, give me time,” laughed the 
cheery old voice. “ I guess we can fix up somethin’ 
that will meet your case.” 

A very few weeks later Judith went wearily home- 
ward to her lonely home. She had been out to her 
traps and down to the hotel with the lobsters for Mrs. 
Ben. Her body was weary, but her heart was wearier 
still. It did seem, she was telling herself as she plodded 
through the sand, as if she could not wait any longer 
for mother and Blossom to come home. 

Suddenly a clear little trill of laughter crept into 
her ears and set her pulses throbbing. Then another 
trill — then Blossom’s voice, calling something that 
thrilled her to her soul. 

“ See me !” called the little triumphant voice of 
Blossom. And Judy, lifting frightened eyes and hold- 
ing her breath as she looked, saw. A small, swaying 
figure was coming toward her very slowly, over the 
hard sand. Blossom — it was Blossom ! She was sway- 
ing unsteadily a step or two, but — she was walking! 

“ See me! See me!” cried Blossom. “ I’m walkin’, 
Judy, don’t you see? I came a-walkin’ down to meet 
you ! It’s a s’prise !” 

Someone caught up the little figure and came leap- 
ing down to Judith with great strides of triumph. 

“ That’s enough to s’prise her — mustn’t do much 
of it at a time yet,” Jemmy Three said gayly. “ You’ve 
got to begin easy. Yes!” in answer to Judy’s speech- 
less pleading, “ yes, sir, she’s goin’ to be a reg’lar 
walker, now, ain’t you. Blossom? Yes, sir; no more 
bein’ toted — she’s folks!'* 



I’M WALKIN’, JUDY! DON’T YOU SEE?” 








63 



64 


Judith Lynn. 

“ Yes, yes, yes !” trilled Blossom exultantly. “ They 
pulled my legs out an’ put ’em in over, where they 
b’long. Only I’ve got to go easy till I’m uncasted.” 

“ Till you’re — what? But never mind what ! You’re 
my Blossom, and you’re home again, and you’re walk- 
iyt'g!” Judith cried in her exceeding great joy. But by 
and by Jemmy Three explained. 

“ They put her legs in kind o’ casts, you know, that 
she can’t have taken off yet awhile, but when they do 
take ’em off — ” 

“ Then I’ll run !” Blossom interrupted, radiantly. 

“ Oh, oh — and to think we were going to surprise 
mother, and you surprised me!” breathed Judy. 
“ But I thought — we were going across the ocean — ” 

“ You needn’t have,” Jemmy said. “ That great 
doctor’s over there, but there’s plenty o’ second-great 
ones over here that make children walk his way. That’s 
what I went to find out. I thought maybe — ” 

“ You went to find out — you thought — oh, Jemmy, 
what a boy you are!” 

“See here — hold on — wait! Let Blossom do it!” 
warded off Jemmy Three, backing away precipitately. 

The beautiful secret was out. Judith had been 
“ s’prised.” There were still months of uncertainty, 
but Judith was not uncertain. She went about in a 
cloud of rapture. At night she lay awake beside Blos- 
som, and dreamed her rosy, happy dreams. And, in 
truth, if she could have looked ahead into the certain 
months, and beyond, she would have seen Blossom 
walking steadily through all the years. 








LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



